


Undercover, Out of Mind

by Blueberryshortcake



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Cop AU, Drug Dealer au, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-20 16:12:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11924523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueberryshortcake/pseuds/Blueberryshortcake
Summary: An enforcer for the Freelancer Gang Washington got more than he bargained for and paid the price. Now that he's out, Washington is put directly into the path of old ghosts and new enemies while navigating Blood Gulch's underworld with only Police Investigators Tucker and Caboose as backup.





	1. You are Free

“That is the deal. Do you understand, David?”

 

“As long as you stop calling me David then yes. It’s a deal,” Wash said bluntly. He peered at the Councillor. His lawyer—or rather he should say the Director’s lawyer—was in a suit despite the temperature. He hadn’t even pulled his tie loose despite the lack of air conditioning.

 

“You did well for yourself.”

 

“Are you calling what happened to me a good thing?” Wash did his best to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but it tainted everything.

 

“You got leniency,” The Councillor said. His voice never raised beyond an even calm. “Many of your former… associates are serving life sentences, on the run, or dead. With your plead of insanity you were only given eighteen months in a secure mental institution.”

 

Wash realized he was tapping his finger on his leg. A gesture that the Council seemed to notice. He stopped.

 

“You have made so much progress, David,” The Councillor seemed so empathetic, but Wash knew him. Really knew him. He was one of the constants of the aftermath. He was certain that rather than seeing Wash make any sort of recovery he made him worse. Gave instructions to the doctors as his legal proxy. Knew what they were doing to him in there.

 

“I have. And I have accepted the deal. I’ll work with the local police. I’ll get information on ‘Meta.’ I’ll be an informant. And after that I’m free.”

 

“You are free now, David,” The Councillor stood. “You have been deemed mentally competent and now you’re just a signature away from being released.”

 

Wash didn’t say anything about deals with devils. He just did a quick signature with the name he was born with and would probably never use again.

 

“Very good. I will send a car for you tomorrow—”

 

“Don’t bother. I’ll take the bus. Cars hate me anyway.”

 

-

 

“Damn it Caboose!”

 

“Tucker did it.”

 

“You know, you can’t use that on me when _I’m_ the one accusing you of something!” Tucker growled.

 

“…Tucker did it.”

 

“Goddamnit!”

 

Church rolled his eyes, “I told you there was no point.”

 

“Church! Are you coming out with me today?” Caboose asked in excitement. “I don’t want to work with stupid Tucker anymore.”

 

Church rolled his eyes, “For the last time, I don’t do beat anymore Caboose. If you haven’t noticed it’s a LITTLE hard to get around after being shot in the back by my own partner!” He gave him a critical look. Caboose glanced to the side.

 

“We all agreed that was no one’s fault.”

 

“Ugh.” Church pushed Caboose aside with his cane. “The answer is no. I’m going home. Home! I’ve been working dispatch twelve hours and if I have to listen to you assholes a moment longer I’ll blow my fucking brains out.”

 

“Whatever, dude,” Tucker rolled his eyes. “We got better things to do than stand around and listen to you bitch anyway, right Caboose?”

 

Caboose looked unsure.

 

Tucker made a face, “We have to see the new informant. Remember? The one that’s supposed to help us on the Meta case?”

 

“Agent Washingtub, of course I remember,” Caboose rolled his eyes as if it was Tucker being the obstinate one. 

  
“Well then, let’s get a move on…” Tucker’s shoulder’s dropped. He glared at Caboose, “This is the last time you get to set up the meet point.”  
  
“I answered the phone I win.”

 

“That’s not—I just—it’s gonna be creepy, dude!”

 

-

 

Surely this wasn’t the place.

 

Wash looked back down at the address he had been texted on a new burner phone.

 

“I seriously can’t believe you—hey I think that’s him!”

 

“How could you know that!?!?!”

 

Wash spun around already on the defensive.

  
Two men approached. One was tall and broad shouldered, an easy grin on his face. The other was shorter, his expression one of pure annoyance. His hair in neat dreads tied back and out of the way of his eyes. 

 

“Because he’s the only adult here without a kid,” The annoyed one replied gesturing to Wash. Wash froze feeling caught out. What had he just stepped into?

 

“I see… ARE YOU MR. WASHINGTON!?!” The big one shouted.

 

“Shut up Caboose!”

 

‘Caboose’ frowned at his annoyed friend. “I was just checking to make sure it was actually him. Stupid Tucker.”

 

“This is an undercover assignment,” ‘Tucker’ stressed. “You’re blowing our cover, dude.”

 

Wash had a distinctively bad feeling about this.

 

Wash carefully approached them. “Are you…” He paused for a very long moment and lowered his voice. “The cops?”

 

The big one beamed. “SEE I WAS RIGHT.”

 

“I’m the one that said that was probably him!” Tucker argued.

 

“BUT I ASKED HIM HIS NAME!!”

 

Wash wanted to shrink under the loud voices and exposure.

 

“Uh, could we maybe go… in or something?” He looked around quickly. This was a joke right? The real cops would come in a few moments and shoo off these unlikely imposters.

 

“Right, right,” Tucker wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. It was hot. Wash already regretted not spending some of his meager funds on sunscreen. He could feel his cheeks starting to burn and more telltale freckles had appeared on his arms.

 

“Okay, you need to be quieter Caboose. Remember. Undercover. Right?”

 

“Okay!” Caboose stage whispered.

 

Tucker gestured for the two of them to follow him into the Chuck E Cheese. Wash didn’t understand. If they were trying to go for inconspicuous three grown men at a children’s party restaurant probably wasn’t how to go about it.

 

“Man, this is so lame. This is supposed to be a cool assignment and you’re already messing it up.”

 

“You like Chuck E. Cheese, Tucker,” Caboose was still stage whispering. Although they got a few suspicious looks from a couple of the parents, the waitress didn’t seem surprised. She even seemed to know Caboose and Tucker. After a few ill-conceived attempts on Tucker’s part to flirt with her they were taken to  a booth at least a little farther in the back farther away from the wholesome family fun.

 

“So…” Tucker said looking at him.

 

“So…” Caboose mimicked.

 

Wash frowned at them. They didn’t seem to actually know how to start.

 

“I’m Washington.” He introduced himself.

 

“It is SO nice to finally meet you Mr. Washington!” Caboose brightened immediately, his volume rising again. He took Wash’s hand in his massive one and energetically shook it.

 

“Uh, yeah.” Wash took back his hand and studied them again. He desperately wanted to ask if this was a joke, but was worried that the answer might be no.

 

“We were told that you might have connections with Meta.” Tucker seemed to finally be getting to business. Wash relaxed a little. At least they knew that much.

 

“Yes. Former associates of mine have been connected to the ring. I—”

 

“Wait, so you’re a Freelancer?!” Caboose gasped.

 

“You—didn’t know?” Wash frowned.

 

“We did, we did,” Tucker cut in quickly, “Caboose, your deductive reasoning is FAN-TASTIC. You weren’t clued in by the State name?”

 

“There are lots of Washingtons.”

 

“Like who?”

 

“…George Washington.”

 

“Goddamn it—”

 

“Focus,” Wash snapped. “How do you get anything done if you just bicker all day?”

 

Tucker leaned back, “Church could handle him better,” He grumbled. “Alright.  Listen. I know how this looks, but we are here to be your support and contact, alright? You report to us when you can. We keep an eye on you. Give you resources. Make sure you don’t get fucked up.”

 

_You can’t trust them_

Wash stiffened.

 

_They won’t be able to protect you. You’re on your own. You have to do this yourself._

“Right,” Wash said out loud. “I try to infiltrate. I report back to you. Feed you information.”

 

“Right,” Tucker agreed. “In return you get a fee for your efforts and immunity to …” He glanced to the side as if trying to remember.

  
“The unavoidable for my cover,” Washington supplied.

 

“Right, right.”  Tucker seemed to relax a bit more. Caboose was colouring in a paper placemat. Tucker noticed him glance Caboose’s way.

 

“I know how it looks, but he’s actually really good at his job,” It was the most complementary thing the other man had said all day towards his partner although he seemed to be trying to save face himself. “He just needs… a bit of guidance.”

 

Caboose seemed annoyed by the comment. Despite his bubbly friendliness he and Tucker had a distinct tension with each other.

 

“Right. Well… if that’s it then…” Wash made a move to stand up. Caboose grabbed his wrist before he could walk away from the table.

 

“We haven’t ordered yet!”

 

He jerked his hand back and grabbed the butter knife on the table before he was fully aware of what he was doing. He quickly dropped it.

  
“Don’t… don’t touch me. And—and next time pick a different location to make contact.”

 

Before they could say anything else he left.

 

_They are the worst cops ever… of all time!_


	2. Dinner Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker and Caboose react to meeting Wash. Wash makes contact with an old...friend.

Tucker’s eyes were still a bit bugged out. ‘Washington’ was gone in a flash before another word could be said. Caboose’s mouth was stuck in an ‘o’ of surprise.

 

“Fuck man, I don’t know if this guy is such a good idea…”

 

“He does not seem so nice.” Caboose agreed. “But he IS the secret agent.”

 

“Secret—ah.” Tucker translated what Caboose was saying. “Yeah… I guess he’s our only connection to Meta … no matter how far-fetched... He might not even get his foot in the door.”

 

“He seems like he can stop doors with his foot really easily,” Caboose countered. “Oh! Shelia!” He perked up the waitress coming to their table.

 

“Hello Caboose. Ready to go, or are you waiting for your friend?”

 

“No we’re good, Sheila,” Tucker replied.

 

“Would you like me to run through the daily specials?”

 

-

 

Blood Gulch wasn’t a big town. It took about five phone calls and six text messages to track him down.

 

**It’s Washington. I want to talk.**

He wondered if the number was actually—

 

**Chorus Diner, 6 O’Clock.**

Guess it was correct.

 

_He’s awfully eager, it’s five thirty already. You shouldn’t go. You know how dangerous he is._

He checked his watch. He should be able to get there with a couple minutes to spare if he walked quickly. Once again he cursed himself for neglecting sunscreen. The sun was still high in the sky. Sweat poured down his face. He wasn’t used to the desert. He was more used to—

 

_You miss the smelly basement in Vancouver, David? Really?_

He quickened his pace to get out of the sun. He got to Chorus Ave and glanced around. There was the Chorus Café on one side and Diner on the other. That wasn’t confusing. He headed into the diner and was met with the blissful feeling of air-conditioning. He scanned the booths and didn’t find who he was looking for… he found… someone else.

 

He froze about to abort. She hadn’t changed that much. Her dipped purple and platinum blonde was gone, replaced with her natural hair colour. It made her look more like her brother. She would hate it if anyone pointed it out though.

 

She spotted him and waved him over rolling her eyes at his hesitation.

 

He took a breath and grabbed the seat opposite.

 

“You aren’t… who I expected.” He said slowly.

 

“I never am,” She groused, “Hey! Can we get service or what?!”

 

He winced as the waitress rushed over.

 

“Sorry ma’am,” She said quickly adjusting her glasses. Her braces gave her a bit of a lisp. Her name tag read ‘Katie’ “I thought you said that you needed more time—”

 

“And now my…” A dubious glance, “Friend is here.”

 

“Alright, so what can I get for you both?” She asked forcing a painful customer service smile. Wash pitied her. There was no harder task than taking South’s order when South’s in a bad mood.

 

“Uh, actually I haven’t seen the—black coffee’s fine.” He couldn’t afford anything else anyway, and he didn’t really want to stick around.

 

“Cheapskate,” South muttered. She went about ordering a breakfast special that they didn’t run past noon, changing out hash browns for fries and giving poor Katie a look that dared her to talk about their policies.

 

Katie gave a glance at Wash who shook his head subtly.

 

“C-Coming right up.”

 

“So you look…” South was studying him for a moment. “Less fucked up than the last time I saw you.”

 

“Wow. Thanks.” Considering the last time she had seen him she shot him in the back…

 

“Are you really going to hold a grudge?” She asked sensing his thoughts. “It was you or me. If you hadn’t been out of your fucking mind you would have done the same. Besides you only got what? Two years? I would have got fucking life.”

 

“How is North?”

 

“I wouldn’t know. Not like I can visit,” She shrugged, unbothered.

 

“Right.”

 

“So aren’t you breaking parole, meeting a known felon?”

 

“I think we’re past that question, South.”

 

Silence fell between them for a moment.

 

“So you’re working with Meta?” He asked bluntly.

 

“I wish,” South huffed, “Meta’s making a fucking killing. My operation is a lot smaller scale.

 

He raised his eyebrow, “Your operation?”

 

“Uhuh,” She leaned back kicking her shoes up on the corner of the table. She looked him over again. “Interested?”

 

“This is…” He looked around and notice Katie not far off, “You might want to keep your voice down.”  

 

“Psh, the cops are all assholes around here. They couldn’t find a donut hole in a donut. Blood Gulch is run by the strong. It’s not a secret.”

 

“So what are you asking me?” He studied her.

 

“You’re fresh out of the looney bin, can’t have many prospects lined up…and I need…”

 

“Help?”

 

She flipped him off, “I’m fine. I don’t need you. I’m doing you a favour because we’re ‘old friends.’”

 

“You shot me in the back.”

 

“You got any other options? On the grapevine says you’re looking for Maine. Maine’s not offering. I am.”

 

She _was_ desperate. She wouldn’t be asking him if she didn’t need him for some reason.

 

“Who’s your supplier?” He asked slowly.

 

“I’m the supplier. I got a chemist,” She leaned in lowering her voice. “Remember D.?”

 

Wash stiffened. “You…”

 

_“He’s not waking up.” There was an uncharacteristic edge in the usually put together man’s voice. “York.” He put hand on his neck, “He’s dead.”_

_“Then we can’t stay here,” Wash said with little feeling. He tightened the yellow bandana obscuring his face. “We need to get out of here before the cops find us. Come on.”_

_“Here, this will help,” Delta held out a small green pill._

_“I don’t do that.” Wash swallowed. “Put it away.”_

_Your demeanor says otherwise. It will help to keep your mind clear—”_

_“No!” He breathed. “My mind **is** clear.” _

_“You are Washington, aren’t you?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Then I understand.”_

_Delta adjusted his glasses,” The timer you set for the equipment will be going off in twenty seconds.”_

_“What? Fuck! Come on!”_

“Are you even listening space case?”

 

He drew his eyes up from the black coffee back to South who was cutting up her pancake with gusto.

 

“You need extra muscle.”

 

“Or a new customer. You pay for it if you’re taking the product though.”

 

“I don’t do that.” He said sternly. “Not anymore.

 

“What DO you do other than bitch about everything?”

 

He breathed slowly.

 

“So you’re asking a recovering addict to help you with your drug business? The same guy you shot in the back?”

 

“Yeah, the great recovering one,” She rolled her eyes, “You haven’t told me to fuck off yet.”

 

“… I’ll consider it.”

 

“Ugh, you’re such a little bitch. Fine! Think about it!” She threw up her hands. He downed the rest of his too hot coffee and threw a buck fifty on the counter. He felt bad for not tipping and threw in an extra dollar.

 

“What you’re not paying after I go to the trouble of setting this up?” South asked.

 

“You’re big time now, you can afford it,” He quipped leaving the diner.

 

-

 

“I can’t believe you,” Tucker grumbled digging into his food.

 

“I am totally trustworthy,” Caboose replied sticking out his tongue.

 

“No, I mean with that Washington guy. He’s going to think we’re fucking amateurs.”

 

“I am VERY mature, Tucker. You are the one that is not mature.”

 

“Amateur, not mature!” Tucker groaned in frustration. Why did he even bother? “He’s going to think we can’t handle this.”

 

And after their meeting he wasn’t really sure if they _could_ handle this—if _he_ could handle this. This sort of thing was so far away from what Tucker usually handled, but on the other hand the drug business kept getting stronger, and the DEA barely seemed to take them seriously anymore. Their city was going to be eaten if something wasn’t done… but by him?

 

He looked up. Caboose ate his burger in contemplation, which was never a good sign. Tucker took the opportunity to check his phone. 4:48PM so Junior wouldn’t be out of Basketball practice yet. He had visitation for six and he couldn’t be late. Junior’s foster parent had already complained last time he was late.

 

“He does not trust us,” Caboose said between bites.

 

“Huh?”

 

“Agent Washington. He has only just met us. We need to show him what good friend we are,” Caboose explained. “Otherwise he will find other friends.”

 

Tucker’s mind drifted to the look of disillusion on Washington’s face when he realized Tucker and Caboose were his handlers.

 

“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

 

-

 

There were keys and an address in the envelope of possessions the Councillor had handed off to him in his bag of personal effects that hadn’t been there when he was first brought in. The apartment complex wasn’t in the best part of town, but it wasn’t in the worst either.  He was tempted to go to a motel instead, but he was also pretty broke.

 

The Councillor would know that.

 

He _knew_ this wasn’t about ‘helping the police.’ Until the meeting he had maintained a glimmer of hope. Maybe the BGPD would be able to help him. That he could tell them his story, and maybe get out from under the Director’s thumb. Bring Freelancer to justice. He was stupid to think the Director would send him anywhere that the police might actually be able to effect change. He probably set up the whole scenario. He was good at that.

 

Wash was tracking Meta for _him_ , not for law enforcement. He was as much a prisoner as he was at the institution. He still belonged to Freelancer.

 

363.

 

The apartment was neatly furnished. There was a small black address book on the kitchen counter. Taped under the corner cupboard was a gun. He felt his stomach twist, but wasn’t surprised. He didn’t move it from its hiding place. In the medicine cabinet there was an envelope with his first name neatly scrawled on it. It wasn’t the councillor’s handwriting.

 

Three words: _Get to work._

**Author's Note:**

> Admittedly not too much research done in favor of story and plot, so if you know anything about police procedure and drug dealers you might be disappointed.


End file.
